


[I Fall In Love] With Every Breath

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Asexual Abby Yates, F/F, i adore these dorks, i'm not super great at tagging, my two science girlfriends, so this is what you're getting in terms of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: Holtzmann has never been good at the whole relationship thing.But for Erin…For Erin, she’s really, really going to try.A year in the relationship of Jillian Holtzmann and Erin Gilbert.





	1. Part One: Summer

**Author's Note:**

> So! Apparently I'm going to be writing a lot of Ghostbusters fan fiction over the next few months, because I have a lot of ideas, and I really love this fandom (or, at least, the 2016 Ghostbusters section of the fandom. My experiences with the original Ghostbusters fandom have been...less than ideal). 
> 
> But anyways, this 'fic can be read as a follow-up to [If We Go Down] Then We Go Down Together, or it can be read as as standalone. Doesn't really matter. Some things that happened during We Go Down Together are referenced in this 'fic, but it's super minimal stuff, and if you don't want to read We Go Down Together it's totally fine. You won't be lost at all.

It’s the sort of hot that instantly makes you tired. And the Firehouse is _hot._ Even with the AC blasting, it feels as if they’re slowly being cooked in an oven.

It’s all Holtzmann’s fault.

Apparently, AC doesn’t work all that well when you have a good half dozen giant machines that could easy have double functions as heaters, and Holtzmann refuses to turn them off, claiming that they’re necessary. Anywhere above, say, halfway up the first flight of stairs is unbearably hot, which is why Erin is currently flat on her back behind her desk, pressed as close to the wall (and therefor the tiniest of cool drafts) as she can get.

Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck and she can feel the itch of drying sweat on the backs of her thighs and around her ribcage. She thinks longingly of her apartment that’s actually a reasonable temperature, but even when New York is having one of the hottest summers on record there are still ghosts to bust.

“Erin?”

Holtzmann appears over the desk, sunglasses low on her nose. She leans across it, propping herself up on her elbows, hands under her chin.

“Whatcha doing? Hiding out with your big ideas?” She says in her squeaky, teasing voice, reaching down to poke at Erin’s stomach. Erin fends her off with much flapping of hands.

“If you must know, it’s cooler here.”

Holtz’s eyes light up, and suddenly she’s hopped over the desk and is squishing herself down next to Erin. Erin groans (because _body heat_ ) even as she laces her fingers with Holtzmann’s (because _Jillian_ ). The temperature in the tiny space instantly rises.

Lying next to Holtzmann is like lying next to an oven. It doesn’t help that, in an attempt to cool down, Jillian had pushed her overalls down to her waist and was in only her sports bra, so there’s the unpleasant sensation of sweaty skin sticking to sweaty skin. And typically, Erin would be all over this, the closeness, the amount of visible skin, but it’s just too hot.

Also, Abby or Patty or Kevin could come and find them any minute. And while Erin’s never exactly been someone who’s shy about relationships, this feels…different. She thinks, maybe, it’s because it’s with a woman, and she’s always had fears about people judging her, but more likely, it has to do with exactly what she feels for the woman currently slipping into a light sleep beside her.

Erin scrubs at her face with the hand that isn’t holding Holtz’s.

Plus, it’s just so dang _hot_.

-

On their next bust, Holtz lets Patty drive on the way back to the firehouse. Partly because she’s sore and hot and tired, and partly because it means she can sprawl across the back seat with Erin. Erin and Abby are arguing about something (a benefit dinner? Abby wants to go, Erin does NOT), and so Holtz just rests her head in Erin’s lap and plays with the zipper on her jumpsuit. At one point, Erin looks down and smiles at her, and Holtzmann wants to stretch up and kiss her, but they don’t really kiss in front of other people yet, and Holtz doesn’t want to make Erin mad.

They’ve only been dating for about six weeks, and she doesn’t know if she can call it _dating_ because they haven’t been on an actual _date_ , but it feels like a relationship. And that scares Holtzmann a little bit, because she’s never been great at the whole relationship thing.

Sure, she flirts with any woman who makes eye contact with her, but if that flirting is returned, it tends to be followed by a lot of awkward backpedaling on Holtz’s side. Previous relationships haven’t ended that well for her. Partly because her previous girlfriends haven’t really understood her; they didn’t get that if she didn’t return their calls or forgets about a date or comes home late, it wasn’t because she was cheating or uninterested, but because she was immersed in a project.

And, despite what she leads people to believe, she’s never really been a one night stand kind of person, either. She’s that person who calls afterwards, who tries connect. She’s too _relationshipy_ for one night stands, but not relationshipy enough for an actual relationship.

Sometimes she wonders if she should call this… _thing_ she and Erin have off early. It causes a pang in her chest to even think about it, but based on her track record, this is probably not going to end well.

But, then, Erin absentmindedly reaches down and tangles her finger’s in Holtz’s hair, and there’s a smile on her face as she does it, and they make eye contact for barely a _second,_ but it’s enough to make Holtz desperately want to drag her down and kiss her until they’re both gasping for breath.

Holtzmann has never been good at the whole relationship thing.

But for Erin…

For Erin, she’s really, really going to try.

-

“Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the Alley 2.0!” Holtzmann crows. Erin can feel the energy just bubbling off her in waves, which is somewhat annoying because currently, Erin feels like melting into a puddle on the pavement. She’s also trying to ignore the strong smell of urine drifting up from the corners of the alleyway, because really, it’s extremely gross. She does not want to be here.

Holtz waves a hand at the table she dragged out into the alley, littered with half-finished weapons and a couple of fully finished ones. “It is time we upgrade our arsenal! I’ve been working on these babies all month, and it’s time for them to great the world.” She whips around to face Erin, Abby, and Patty, a wild, enthusiastic grin on her face.

The rest of them are less enthusiastic. If anything, the oppressive heat feels even hotter in the alley behind the firehouse, as if they’ve trapped themselves in a tiny oven. Erin lifts her hair off her neck, sure she’s bright red. They’re all in their jumpsuits, a precaution against anything that might go wrong. A large poof, as opposed to a small or medium sized one. The jumpsuits are a flimsy source of protection, sure, but it’s better than just being in shorts and t-shirts, as they all were earlier.

“Holtzy…” Patty says, then pauses, before starting again. “Could we delay this? Like a couple of hours, just until the sun starts to go down?” She’s fanning herself with a hand, and her typically immaculate hair is starting to come loose. Abby looks like she’s either about to pass out or throw up, or possibly both.

“No can do, Pattycakes. We also need to make sure that these won’t melt when used in high heat,” Holtz says, entirely too happily.

Before anyone could say anything about that worrying statement, Holtz hooks an arm through Erin’s and drags her forward. “You get the great honor of testing out my son.”

She plunks a machine in Erin’s hands.

“Is this the-?”

“Proton grenade launcher? Yeeeepp.”

She turns Erin until she’s facing down the alley, and points at a bedsheet she has draped over a coatrack. She’s painted a face on it, which doesn’t surprise Erin at all.

“See that guy? That guy just showered you head to toe in ectoplasm. He needs to be exploded into a thousand teeny-tiny pieces. Go.”

She gives Erin a gentle shove, and Erin steps forward. The grenade launcher turns on with a solid thrum, and it makes Erin nervous. Taking a deep breath and leaning her head as far back from it as she can, she hits the switch.

A grenade shoots out of the end with the force of a gun blast, sending Erin stumbling backward. It hits the fake ghost, sending the coat rack falling with a clatter and explodes in a pop of red light, sending the bedsheet and any garbage that was unlucky enough to be in the area shooting in all directions.

The four of them dive for cover. Erin and Holtz end up in a tangle of limbs half behind a dumpster, and Erin can hear Abby swearing and Patty laughing, so she figures no one’s seriously hurt.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” Holtz says, and Erin suddenly realizes she has fallen on top of Holtz, and not only are they very, very close, but Holtzmann is grinning and her glasses are askew and she smells of smoke. She’s mad scientist Holtzmann right now, through and through, and something in Erin’s gut grows _tight._  

“Are you guys gonna start making out or something?” Patty’s voice drifts over, and Erin scrambles off of Holtz, blushing furiously red.

Patty is still on the ground, reclining on her elbows, grinning. Abby has stood up, but she’s got a sour look on her face and is examining a rapidly forming bruise just below her collarbone.

“I hate alley 2.0,” she grumbles, and Holtz is on her feet and over to Abby in a second.

“Well, alley 2.0 loves you.” She slings an arm around Abby’s shoulders. “But I say it’s time to retire alley 2.0 for a while.”

She looks over to Erin and winks, and god, Erin’s turning even brighter red, isn’t she?

-

Patty’s birthday is mid-July, and the temperature is slowly ticking upwards from the 90s to the low 100s, and apparently, the ghosts hate the heat as much as the humans do, because most of their days are spent doing pretty much nothing around the firehouse.

There are no calls. No busts. Just Holtz and Erin and Patty and Abby and Kevin, all stuck in a hot building, all bored. Bored enough that Abby springs at a chance to do something for Patty’s birthday, even though Patty insists that her family’s throwing her a massive party the weekend after and that Abby really does not need to do anything.

“Well, what do you want to do on your actual birthday?” Abby continues, somewhat stubbornly, and Patty sighs.

“You’re not gonna give this up, are you?”

Abby shakes her head.

“Fine!” Patty throws her hands in the air. “Let’s eat pizza and order take-out and get drunk.”

So, naturally, they do.

-

“This is gonna be fun!” Patty declares. She grins at Erin and they clink their glasses together. Erin sips hers, cautiously. Vodka and cranberry juice. She coughs, because it’s stronger than she expected, and it makes Patty laugh.

“I’m looking forward to this. I haven’t seen y’all drunk yet.”

“You’ve seen me drunk,” Erin says, thinking back to a confession of love for a colleague in the back of a cab, accompanied by much sobbing.

“Nah, I’ve seen you mildly intoxicated. I haven’t seen you full-out drunk.”

“I can tell you how it’s going to go,” Abby says, plopping down on Patty’s other side. “Erin gets all gushy and mildly teary, then starts trying to make out with anything with a mouth. That’s how it happened every time we went to a party in college.”

Erin opens her mouth to defend herself, but Abby was spot-on, so she closes it again with only a mild protest.

Patty turns to Abby. “What about you?”

Abby sighs. “I find everything hysterically funny than fall into a coma-like state for about twelve hours.”

“One time in college I came back to our dorm and thought she was dead.”

“Serves you right. You left me at the party to hang out with Jenny Lakewood.”

Patty’s looking back and forth between them, looking like she won some sort of prize. “What did you do?”

Erin shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. This time, now that she’s expecting it, it goes down smoother. “I called 911. Or I thought I called 911.”

“She called the guys down on the floor below us instead, sobbing so hard they couldn’t understand her, told them to bring a stethoscope and hung up.”

“Wise choice,” Holtz chimes in. She clambers over the arm of the couch, squishing herself down between Erin and the edge. Her drink sloshes as she does so, and Erin reaches for it in an attempt to keep her from spilling it. “I would have asked for a defibrillator, but y’know. I’m crazy.”

She tips her head back and downs her drink in a couple of gulps. She slams the glass on the coffee table and whoops, making Erin jump. Then she’s up and moving again.

“This party needs some music!”

She turns it up until Erin can feel the thud, thud, thud of the base in her chest, beating in time to the rhythm of the Erin’s heart, beating in time to the rhythm of Holtzmann.

-

Abby can feel it coming on. All Patty had to do was accidently knock a magazine off the coffee table and she dissolved in giggles. She’s both dreading and welcoming it, and she swallows the last of liquid in the bottom of her glass- just straight vodka this time. She’d forgone the cranberry juice two (or three) drinks ago.

“And they think they’re being subtle,” Patty says, and Abby looks up to see Erin and Holtzmann dancing across the room.

Erin is laughing, her face flushed, and Holtz is doing some dance that involves a seemingly unnecessarily amount of hip thrusts, all the time getting closer and closer to Erin. And Erin isn’t embarrassed and backing off, like she normally would have.

“Subtly was never Erin’s specialty,” Abby says, then laughs, because it rhymed.

“Or Holtzy’s either.”

They’re basically draped all over each other, now, on the floor, both laughing hysterically. Abby watches in interest. Holtzmann is an affectionate person by nature, and she gets even more affectionate when she’s drunk (drunk Holtzmann is basically regular Holtzmann times three), but this…they’re a tangle of limbs, and Holtzmann is lying across Erin’s chest and Erin has her fingers in Holtz’s rapidly tangling hair.

“Five bucks they make out,” Patty says, and finishes off her glass.

“I’m not drunk enough to take that bet. They’re totally going to make out. Ten bucks that Erin announces they’re dating after they make out.”

“Deal.” They clink now-empty glasses together, and Patty pushes herself off the couch, taking Abby’s glass.

“I’d say you should slow down, but it’s my birthday, so we’re gonna keep going.”

-

The longer the night goes on, the more everyone drinks, the more tired Patty gets. She’s probably the least fun type of drunk to be around. She reaches “mildly intoxicated” and gets more and more tired until she’s basically asleep on her feet, babbling random bits of sentences because she hasn’t realized she didn’t say the first half. So she’s basically asleep, but it’s almost 1AM and it’s probably time to tone it down anyways.

Abby is the first one down. She spent ten minutes hung upside down off the edge of the cough, laughing, before bursting into tears for some unknown reason. She sobbed for about a minute before crashing on the couch, and has been asleep since then, even though the music is still almost painfully loud.

And Patty can feel herself going, too, but she’s watching the show that’s currently being put on by her two non-asleep friends and isn’t quite ready to fall asleep yet.

Because across the room, it looks as if Holtzmann and Erin are attempting to either eat each other’s faces or make out. It’s funny enough that Patty takes a picture, and either they don’t notice or are too wasted to care, because neither of them comes charging over and snatches the phone away.

When they finally come up for air, Erin sits up, looks wildly around, meets Patty’s eyes and points wildly at Holtzmann after looking furtively around.

 _This is my girlfriend!_ She mouths overdramatically, grinning, before Holtz pounces again and they’re back to their original activity. This time, though, there’s a lot more licking of each other’s faces happening, and Patty screws up her face in disgust and turns away.

Patty has two thoughts about the whole dating thing, though. One, _finally they admit it._

And two, damn it, she owns Abby ten bucks.

-

When Erin wakes up in the morning, she feels awful. Her brain feels as if it’s attempting to throb its way out of her skull, all her muscles are cramping, and her mouth tastes like something died in the back of her throat. She groans and rolls over, hitting a warm, solid mass.

The warm mass grumbles and pushes at Erin. Holtzmann.

Despite the pain the light brings her sensitive eyes, Erin blinks and sits up. She’s in Holtzmann’s room, morning light edging in around the curtain separating the tiny room from the rest of the third floor. She and Holtzmann somehow managed to squeeze themselves onto Holtz’s cot, and Erin has no recollection of when she went to bed the night before.

Her stomach cramps, and she groans, pushing her face into her hands.

“Izzit mornin’?”

Holtz’s voice is muffled. She’s jammed her face into her pillow, lying flat on her stomach, arms at her sides.

“Yeah.” Erin pushes her hair out of her face, wincing as her fingers get caught in some snags, and squints at the clock on Holtz’s bookshelf.

“It’s 9:45.”

Holtz turns her head so she’s looking at Erin. “Do we have to get up?”

“Yeah.”

“Noooo,” Holtz moans, and returns to smashing her face into the pillow. Erin feels her hand grasp weakly at her arm, as if she’s trying to pull her back down, but she gives up after a few seconds.

Erin’s memories from the night before are full of jagged corners and ripped edges; mostly there, but missing bits and pieces. She sorts through them with a frown, before settling on one that makes her gasp.

“Jillian?”

“Whaaaat?”

“I think we may have made out in front of Patty and Abby,” she says, and as she does, another memory comes through the fog, making her eyes widen. “And…I think I told Patty we’re dating.”

That makes Holtz turn over. She still doesn’t open her eyes, but at least her voice isn’t muffled anymore.

“So?”

“So!” Erin can feel herself starting to panic. “I wasn’t planning on telling them yet! I wanted to wait longer!” Her anxiety is rising, and the more she tries to stamp it down the more it reared up.

Holtzmann finally opens her eyes and sits up. Her shirt is hanging off her shoulder and her hair is disheveled, and typically that would make Erin… _distracted,_ but now she’s too worked up to care.

“We’ve been dating for weeks, now. It’s about time we told them.” When Erin doesn’t say anything, Holtz continues.

“We’re dating, right? I’m your girlfriend?” she asks, reaching for Erin’s arm. Erin opens and closes her mouth, but nothing comes out, and hurt flashes across Holtz’s face. She takes her hand away, and looks away.

“Oh.”

Erin’s heart cracks a little bit, and she reaches out for Holtz. “Jillian…”

And Holtz pushes her away. She pushes Erin away. She gets out of bed and starts sorting through the piles of clothes on the floor for a pair of pants, which she tugs on. Erin scrambles out of bed after her, the sudden movement making her stomach churn, but she ignores the sensation.

“Jill, Jillian, please,” she pleads, but Holtzmann won’t meet her eyes.

“Let me explain-“

“Explain what?” Holtz whirls around. “That you’ve let me think that we’ve been dating, when really, all it was was two people sleeping together?”

“Of course not!” Erin snaps, and instantly feels bad. “I just…”

“Just what, Erin?”

“I was scared. Okay, Jillian? I was _scared_ ,” It comes rushing out of Erin, sharper and harder than she intended it to. “Every single time I’ve dared to put a label on a relationship, it’s ended only a week or two later. Do you know how hard that is, to introduce people to your boyfriend one week, and then the next time you see them and they ask about him you have to say he broke up with you? It’s embarrassing.” She chokes on a sob, not even realizing she had started crying. “It’s embarrassing, and it makes you feel like you’re not worth having a relationship with, okay?”

She sits down hard on Holtz’s bed, burying her face in her hands, and crying. She feels a weight settle next to her, and Holtz’s arm wraps around her shoulders.

“I’m not going to dump you in a week, if that makes you feel better. Not next week, or next month, or next year.”

Erin looks up, and Holtz jumps to her feet, dragging Erin upright. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go scream out the window that I’m dating you, okay? So people will know.”

Erin laughs a watery laugh. “Okay.”

So, Holtz, true to her word, does.

(Patty and Abby, formally asleep, are not pleased).

-

“So you’re dating Holtzmann,” Abby says later that afternoon. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” Erin peeks at her best friend over the rim of her coffee cup, waiting for the reaction. The lecture, on how it’s never a good idea to date coworkers, that when it inevitably breaks up, you’ll just have to see each other every day and stew in the awkwardness. What she actually says, however, comes as a complete surprise.

“About damn time you admitted it!”

Erin chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Abby rolls her eyes. “You two are like the opposite of subtle. Erin, I’ve seen _you_ flirt with _Holtzmann._ You never flirt! And how about the fact that you two are always leaving together? Or how whenever Holtz goes to get coffee, she always brings you back a cup?”

“She brings you guys coffee,” Erin protests, but Abby just shakes her head.

“Not without us asking.”

“Oh,” Erin says, quietly.

Abby sighs, and sits down next to her best friend. “This is where I’m supposed to tell you that if you break her heart I’ll kill you, right? Slowly and painfully and all that?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you already know I would.”

“That’s true.” Erin smiles, and Abby returns it before pushing herself to her feet. She presses a hand to her forehead, wincing.  “I’m never getting drunk again. Why did we think this was fun?”

From downstairs, Patty’s voice can be heard.

“I did NOT want to know that, Holtzy! Y’all are nasty!” followed by the echoing sounds of Holtz’s laughter. Erin can feel herself turning red, because she’s pretty sure she knows what the conversation had entailed.

“I’m going to learn way more about your sex life than I ever wanted to learn,” Abby grumbles, but she’s smiling as she says it. She squeezes Erin’s shoulder as she walks past.

“I’m happy for you two, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Erin says.

And, despite all the drama that had come and probably will come out of her proclaiming to the world (or, to Patty in the middle of a drunken make-out session with her girlfriend) that they’re dating, she’s so glad she did it.

-

The ever-present heat was slowly fading, leaving New York crossing their fingers that this cooler weather would mark the end of the heat wave.

Of course, that didn’t happen. If anything, as soon as the week was done, it got even hotter.

Holtz is splayed out on Erin’s bed, eyes closed. Even with the AC on full blast, Erin’s apartment is still uncomfortably warm, which lead to both of them taking showers icy water then climbing onto Erin’s bed, and doing…nothing.

Holtzmann is literally six inches away from her very attractive, very naked girlfriend, and they’re just…lying there. Staring at the ceiling. The fan circling around and around and around. The spider inching across the walls.

“Do you wanna...?” Holtz asks, letting her voice trail off seductively, even as she feels a drop of sweat roll down her temple. Erin’s AC really needs an upgrade, because it’s not doing _anything._

Erin just groans and rolls over, and their bare arms touch. Holtz hisses and yanks hers away, because _skin contact_ and _sweat_ and _body heat._ So no sex, then. Sex has a lot of skin contact and sweat and body heat. And while she likes (loves) sex with Erin, she doesn’t really want sex with Erin right now because of those three times. Which is probably for the better, because all her limbs feel heavy and her head feels slightly clouded.

She really, really hates the heat. Her machines don’t like it, either, and she searches her fuzzy brain for the memory of turning some of the more sensitive ones off. They didn’t stop the apocalypse to have a (kind of) nuclear reactor explode because it gets touchy when it overheats.

Erin makes a little moaning sound into her pillow, and normally that would make Holtz pounce, but the heat and the heaviness and the _heat_.

“Want to talk about feelings or something?” Holtz asks, because that seems like the kind of thing you should ask someone you’re currently lying naked in bed with, but Erin just groans, again.

And they fall into a comfortable silence. And Holtzmann can’t help but marvel because it’s actually _comfortable_ silence, not just a silence that’s she’s desperately trying to pretend is comfortable. But with she and Erin, it’s as if they know each other so well by this point, that even being next to each other, not talking, is totally fine.

Holtz accidently creates a lot of awkward silences. It’s kind of her thing. But she doesn’t with Erin.

The thought makes her lean over and press a kiss to the bare skin of Erin’s shoulder. Erin turns her head so she can look at Holtz, and as she does, Holtz kisses her again, on the lips this time. When they break away, they’re both smiling.

“I’m still not having sex,” Erin says, finally.

“I know. It’d be all wet. And not wet in the good way.”

“Holtz…”

“It’d be wet in a sweaty, sticky, gross way.”

“ _Jillian_.”

-

Mid-August comes without fanfare, as it tends to do. And with it comes cooler weather at last. It’s still not _comfortable,_ exactly, but Holtzmann can be in her lab without worrying that her atoms are going to melt just because of the heat, and not because Kevin dropped something.

She has the radio on as she works, like she always does, and whenever she catches Erin’s eye across the room she does a few steps of a dance, making her smile.

They’re both immersed in their work, though, when they hear it. The low rumble, close, followed, a few seconds later, by a flash of light. Both of their heads fly up, and their eyes meet across the room.

“Was that…?” Erin asks, hesitantly, hopefully.

Her question is answered, not by Holtzmann, but by a following rumble and the sudden, sharp sound of rain _pounding_ against the roof.

Patty’s whoop can be heard from the third floor, and Abby’s delighted laughter from the first. Holtzmann is on her feet in seconds, shooting across the room and grabbing Erin’s hand. She basically tows her down to the first floor, where Abby is standing on her tiptoes to peer out the windows of the two doors. She turns, grinning, but Holtzmann doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy pushing the door open and pulling Erin out into the pouring rain.

She protests, at first, but Holtz is strong and she’s not _really_ protesting. Holtz lets go of her hand and laughs, tilting her head back and spinning in a circle, letting the rain fall into her face, her hair, her clothes. It’s a strange, warm rain, but it’s rain, and the air smells like wet.

Thunder rumbles overhead, and the flash of lighting illuminates Erin’s face. She’s grinning, too. Laughing, hands out, letting the rain fall, cupping it in her palms. She’s beautiful, like this. Soaking wet and laughing and _happy,_ and Holtz rushes forward and pulls her close, and kisses her.

Erin’s lips taste like raindrops. The noise of the rain, of the city, falls into the background, because right now, it’s just her and Erin, in the rain. Her and Erin happy and laughing against each other’s lips. Somewhere in the background, Abby cheers and Patty wolf whistles, which makes them laugh harder.

When they finally go back into the firehouse, both of them are soaked to the bone, starting to shiver, and totally, utterly happy.

-

“Y’all are too cute, you know that, right?” Patty says, leaning against the countertop as she watches them. They’re snuggled up on the couch on the top floor, in whatever random items of clothing they could find, curled under a blanket.

Erin doesn’t answer, just smiles and rests her head on top of Holtz’s.

“You’re still wet,” Erin says, reaching out to collect a droplet of water glistening on Holtz’s cheek.

“That’s what she said,” Holtz replies with a wink, and Patty groans across the room. Erin just rolls her eyes.

Their fingers are entwined under the blankets. Rain still pounds away on the rooftop, washing away weeks of heat and dust and sweat, flooding everything with the smell of rain and damp dirt.

Rain pounds away, cleaning the city of summer.


	2. Part Two: Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out waaaay longer than I intended it to be. Oops? Anyways, here it is, and I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and kudos!

It’s never a good thing when Jennifer Lynch shows up at the firehouse in person, instead of just dragging them to the mayor’s office like usual. She’s waiting for them when they walk in the door after a bust, and when Holtzmann sees her standing there, frowning, she spins on her heel to go back to the Ecto-1, but Patty catches her elbow and doesn’t let her go.

“Girls,” Jennifer greets them, still frowning. Kevin looks up from where he was doing something involving copious amounts of glue behind his desk.

“Boss, there’s a woman here to see you. Right there, waiting at Abby’s desk.” He gestures at Lynch. “Wearing a black coat.”

“We see her, Kev,” Patty says, not taking her eyes off the mayor’s assistant.

“What do you need?” Erin asks, wearily. One side of her body is coated in Ectoplasm, and there’s a trail of the jelly-like green liquid following after her. Holtz knows that her girlfriend wants nothing more to shower, but Jennifer Lynch has stepped in their path.

“I want you to explain this,” she says, and produces a picture.

Erin frowns at it. “Isn’t that…?”

It is. It’s a picture taken the day of the thunderstorm at the end of the summer. Erin and Holtz, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other, both soaking wet, both _laughing_. It’s obvious that they had just been kissing. Patty had taken it, declaring that it was too cute not to take a picture, and then had posted it on the official Ghostbusters Instagram account.

“Is there a problem?” Abby asks. “It’s a good picture.”

“It is a good picture,” Jennifer agrees. “The problem has to do with the caption.” She pulls a piece of paper out of the file she holds at her side.

“NYGhostbustersOfficial: about damn time. These two lovebirds have been dancing around each other for months, hashtag true love is real, hashtag holtzbert,” Jennifer reads. Holtz assumes it’s the caption for the photo.

“I don’t see any problem,” Patty declares. “It was about damn time.”

“Well, perhaps,” Jennifer says. “But we would have preferred for you to talk to the mayor’s office before you announce the two of you were dating. While many people have been supportive of your relationship, we have gotten a couple of…more upset responses.”

Holtz feels her stomach sink. She thinks she knows where this conversation is heading. Beside her, she can see Erin flush red in anger, and she opens her mouth, ready to argue.

But Abby beats them both to the punch.

“So, we’re not supposed to post pictures of Holtz and Erin together, now? In case we might offend some homophobes on the internet?” Jennifer opens her mouth to say something, but Abby just gets louder, talking over her. “They’re our friends, they’re Ghostbusters, and they’re dating. We’re going to post pictures of them on _our_ Instagram account, homophobes or not.”

Jennifer sighs. “It’s just with the…political conversations happening right now, maybe you should keep politics off your social media, okay girls?”

“OUR FRIENDS DATING AREN’T POLITICS YOU-“

Patty lays a hand on Abby’s arm, stopping her from calling Jennifer anything too offensive. Abby stops shouting, but she grumbles something that sounds an awful lot like _motherfucker._ Holtz smiles a little bit when she sees Jennifer’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I see your point,” Jennifer concedes, albeit mildly reluctantly. She clutches her file to her chest, and hesitates a long, long time before saying slowly, “This is just my job, you guys know that, right? And sometimes I have to do things that I don’t agree with.”

None of the four ghostbusters say anything.

But, when she’s almost out the door, she turns, and says softly, “Congratulations, you two.”

The door shuts with a quiet click.

And Abby _fumes._ “Of all the things that…that _woman_ has done, this is one of the worst!”

Holtz lets her bag drop, and every eye turns to her. Erin reaches out.

“Jillian…”

“I’m going to go to my lab.” She forces a smile even though she feels sick to her stomach, and rushes toward the stairs.

She can’t handle being comforted right now.

-

“Hey, Holtz?”

Holtz looks up to see Erin standing in front of her desk. Her hair is dripping wet, the shoulders of her MIT hoodie already soaking. She’s clearly just gotten out of the shower. Holtz puts down her blowtorch, pushing her goggles up off her eyes. “Hey, Er.”

“Do…do you want to talk? You didn’t look too good earlier.”

Holtzmann still doesn’t feel that good, either, but she forces a smile and spins around in her chair so she can prop her feet up on her desk. “I’m fine. Just brought back some memories, that’s all.” She shoves her googles back down, reaching for the blowtorch.

“Jillian.”

Holtz sighs and pushes her googles back up.

“I feel like I don’t know anything about your childhood, or your family, or how or where you grew up,” Erin says. “And that feels important for me to know. And I understand if you don’t want to talk right now, but I want to talk sometime, okay?”

She turns, as if she’s going to walk to her side of the floor, but Holtz reaches out and catches her wrist. “Wait. Just…meet me on the roof in about thirty minutes, okay? I just need to finish this.”

Erin nods. “Okay.”

-

Erin has come prepared. When Holtz steps out onto the roof thirty (give or take like ten) minutes later, she finds Erin in the chair, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea in her hands. She passes a mug to Holtz when she sits down beside her.

“Before you ask, yes, I added whipped cream. I don’t know how you drink it like that.”

“I don’t know how you don’t,” Holtz says, grinning, licking a bit of whipped cream of the edge of the mug. The mug has the ghostbusters logo on it; a gift from the mayor’s office when they moved into the firehouse. Erin snuggles closer to her. “So. Tell me about your past. Start from the beginning.”

“in 1492, a man named Columbus-“

“Holtzmann.”

“Fiiiine.” Holtzmann gives a tiny, not-quite smile. “You go first.”

Erin shrugs. “You know most of it. But what I never told you is that my mom initially believed me.”

Holtz straightens up. “What?”

Erin nods. “Yeah. She…she thought that it was too big of a thing for me to be making up. It didn’t fit with my personality, you know? Before that, I’d never believed in ghosts. I wasn’t one of those kids who thought I had monsters under my bed or claimed that I found fairies in the garden. But my dad insisted on therapy.

“He…wasn’t a soft man. He was never mean, exactly, but he wasn’t nice, either. He and Mom used to get into these _fights._ And I would curl up in my bed and plug my ears and just beg them to stop fighting. Whisper please stop over and over and over. He forced me to go to therapy for a year and half, until I finally just said that I made it up so I could stop going. And it was almost a vindictive thing for him, to make me “admit” that I had made it all up. Any time anyone mentioned anything relating to ghosts he would tell the story and it used to make me so embarrassed.”

“What happened?”

Erin takes a sip of tea, as if she’s composing herself. “He and my mom got divorced when I was eleven. She never told me, but I think he was hitting her. I used to come down in the morning and see bruises around her wrist or on her cheek, but I never asked, and she never told. And Mom had primary custody of me, but I went to stay with Dad every other weekend, and those weekends were always awful. Then when I was maybe fifteen I came out as bisexual, and the next time I was supposed to go his house, he never picked me up.”

“That’s awful,” Holtz whispered, and Erin shrugged, again.

“The final straw was when he heard Abby and I were publishing Ghosts from Our Past. He had still had some contact with me up that point, but as soon as he heard about the book, I got a phone call. He screamed at me that I was ruining his family’s reputation. And he told me he never wanted to see me again. And I haven’t seen him again. Him or his side of the family. He got remarried when I was in college, and she had kids, so I have step siblings I’ve never met. I used to look at his Facebook account, sometimes, and I would get so, so angry, but I don’t anymore.”

She took a deep breath and smiled, reaching out to squeeze Holtzmann’s hand. “And that’s my family. Your turn.”

Holtz curls her fingers around her cup, watching as the whipped cream melts into the tea, creating a white film on the surface. She looks up and meets Erin’s eyes.

“When I was fifteen, I ran away from home, and started working as a conman.”

Erin groans and laughs at the same time. “Jillian!”

Holtz smiles a little bit. “No. I grew up in a big family. I had three older brothers and a younger sister, and my parents were super religious. I’m talking like homeschooled so we didn’t have to take sex ed sort of religious.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. And they had these three perfect All-American sons who wore button-ups to school dated All-American girls and didn’t have sex before marriage. My little sister was pretty much the same. And then there was me, the wild-child, who cut my hair short with safety scissors and got into fights on the playground and rolled my eyes in church and wanted to become a _scientist_. When I was twelve they sent me to this Catholic school…I think hoping that the strict rules would beat the wildness out of me.”

“It clearly didn’t work.”

“No. It was an all-girls school, too. And I was a little baby gay going through puberty surrounded by pretty girls. I was brilliant, yes, but I was still a teenager.”

“I think I can see where this is going,” Erin says, softly. Holtz nods.

“They got a call when I was fifteen. I had been caught making out with a girl in one of the classrooms. My parents were _pissed,_ to say the least. I still remember them yelling that they hadn’t raised a lesbian, that no child of theirs would be gay. So they did everything they could. Lectured me. Yelled at me. Sent me to this church camp so I could ‘pray the gay away’. The last straw was when they sent me to therapy.”

“Conversion therapy?” Erin’s whisper is hushed and horrified, and at Holtz’s quiet, sad look, turns pale. “Oh my god, Jillian.”

“I had already secretly sending out college applications, and I had been accepted in a couple dozen, and about six of them were offering full-ride scholarships. So I spent the last few weeks of the summer at my secret girlfriend’s house, then I left. Didn’t let my parents know, I just left. Then I met Rebecca Gorin, and after I graduated college I saw Abby’s craigslist add for a research partner, and you know everything after that.”

“Jillian…that’s fucked up. I can’t believe you got through that.” She curls an arm around Holtz’s shoulders, and pulls her close to her. Holtz can feel her shaking. Holtz nods. “That’s why Jennifer affected me so much. I spent the sixteen years of my life being told by my family I couldn’t be who I was. And I never want to go back to that again.”

“They’re not your family.”

“What?”

“They’re not your family,” Erin says, fiercely. “We’re your family. Abby and Patty and…fine…Kevin. Not those _assholes_ that called themselves your family.”

Holtz turns, so she’s nose to nose with Erin. “What about you, Er?”

“And me,” Erin says, breathlessly. She kisses Holtz, softly, almost chastely, just their lips brushing gently together before pulling together.

“We’re your family, Jillian. We’ll always be your family.”

-

Holtzmann’s birthday is early September, and Erin is stressing out trying to plan it. It’s Abby who points out that Holtz would be happy with just a cake and a couple of spools of wire, but this is her first birthday where Erin’s her girlfriend, and she would feel guilty if all Holtzmann got was a cake.

Patty, somewhat surprisingly, is on Erin’s side.

“They’re dating,” Patty tells Abby, shrugging. “If Erin doesn’t do something special she’ll feel like she let Holtzy down.”

And, in the end, it’s Abby who gives Erin the idea for what to do.

At first, Holtz is confused.

“I thought we were just having cake?” Holtz says, when, at about 4PM, Erin bundles her out of her lab and down into a waiting cab. Erin just smiles and gives the cab driver directions.

When they reach their destination, Holtz gasps. “No.”

“Yes.”

Holtzmann all but flings herself out of the cab, pumping her fist. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of these!”

“Abby told me, but she also said that you guys never went.” Erin follows her excited girlfriend, joining the line for the haunted house. Holtzmann is basically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on her toes in an attempt to see the front of the line. As they wait, Erin pulls up her phone and scrolls through the website.

“It says that no one under fourteen is allowed in,” she says, brows furrowing. “And that you shouldn’t wear white because you might get fake blood on you.”

For the first time, she feels unease in the pit of her stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Holtz, apparently seeing the look on her face, laughs. “Come on, Erin. We hunt actual ghosts for a living. This can’t be that scary, can it?”

Erin relaxes, laughs, and agrees.

As they quickly find out, though, apparently it can.

-

“Y’all starting _crying?”_ Patty asks, laughing. Erin glares at Holtzmann, who grins at her, and winks.

“I did not start crying,” Erin grumbles, glaring at her slice of cake. “I just…panicked and a few tears came out.”

“She totally started crying.”

“Well, Holtz practically clawed me to death!” Erin says, and yanks up her sleeve. Abby leans over and whistles at the four bright-red puncture marks, clearly from fingernails.

“In my defense, it was a clown. I hate clowns.” Holtz is splayed out on the couch, a plate with her second slice of cake on her lap, her leg flung over the back of the couch.

“At one point, she shoved me toward the clown and took off running.”

Holtz points her fork at Erin. “Notice the keyword clown.”

Patty laughs. “Only you, Holtzy, would spend her life chasing after ghosts and want to go to a haunted house for her birthday.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m special,” Holtz says, popping a bite of cake into her mouth. “Isn’t that right, Er-Bear?”

“Yeah.”

They smile at each other for a few seconds, causing a warm feeling in Erin’s chest.

Then Holtz completely _ruins_ the moment by saying “and I’m great in bed!”

“HOLTZMANN.”

-

Somehow, they make it through September without any major catastrophes. Holtz flings herself headfirst into decorating for Halloween, covering the firehouse in skeletons and ravens and cobwebs, and even drips fake ectoplasm down the windows.

(She notices that Erin can’t help but shudder every time she sees it. So, naturally, Holtz covers her locker with it)

It’s in second week of October when it starts raining.  At first, New York is thrilled. But then it doesn’t stop. And it just keeps raining. And people grumble, but they don rainboots and raincoats and umbrellas, and go about their business as normal.

Then, it starts flooding.

They’ve been called on a bust, and the drive over is spent listening to rain hitting the Ecto-1, and Erin is very, very glad that they she convinced Holtz to take the nuclear reactor off the roof of the car, because she really does not want to know what happens when that kind of thing gets wet.

They’re called to an apartment building where the residents have been saying that there’s a ghostly woman walking the halls and screaming in the middle of the night. It seems simple enough; a Class III, maybe a Class IV, nothing huge, nothing they haven’t dealt with dozens if not hundreds of times. So just Erin and Holtz go, leaving Abby and Patty to do their work.

The owner greets them in the lobby and ushers them to a small side room. She twists her hands together, and Erin can see how exhausted she looks.

“It started last week,” the woman explains. “One of our residents called down to our doorman. He thought that a drunk had gotten in and was wandering the hallways.” She takes a deep breath. “But when we looked, we saw… _it._ I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, as if attempting to push it out of her brain. 

“Could you describe the entity to us?” Erin asks, her mind already switching into scientist mod.

The owner nods, quickly. “Yes…it…she, I guess, looks like she would have been beautiful when she was alive, but her clothes drip with blood, and her face…” her voice cracks. “It’s torn up. Almost as if an animal attacked her. And her eyes…” a choked sob.

Erin reaches out and lays a hand on the woman’s arm. “We’ll take care of it. That’s what you called us for.”

The woman nods, wiping at her eyes before fanning at her face with her hands. “Yes, well.” She gives a shaky laugh. “This isn’t something I exactly expected to be dealing with.”

Holtz leans forward, resting an arm on Erin’s shoulder. “Where can we find this bloody ghost?” She adopts a British accent for the final two words, and the woman looks at her strangely.

“She’s always either on the sixth floor or in the basement. She scared on of our repair men half to death.”

Erin can feel her phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulls it out just enough to see the name on the screen. Patty.

When Erin and Holtz exit the room, Erin wastes no time in digging her phone out and calling Patty back.

“ _Erin?”_

“Yeah.” She waves wildly at Holtz until the engineer comes over, and she tips her phone away from her ear so Holtz can listen, too.

“ _I’ve been doing some research on the apartment, and I found something.”_

“Really?” Erin frowns. Holtz snakes an elbow through hers and leads her across the lobby, toward a door marked ‘basement access’. “I thought you said that you couldn’t find anything.”

“ _I dug a bit deeper. It’s been buried. But the apartment has been around for a while, and in the 60s a woman who lived in it was reported missing.”_

“Okay…”

“ _They never found her. Her husband spread the rumor that she had run off with a secret boyfriend, and everyone believed him. But, about ten years ago, they found her bones.”_

Holtz shoulders open the basement door, her duffle bag smacking Erin in the thigh. Holtz produces a flashlight from her pocket and sticks it between her teeth. She hits buttons on the P.K.E meter she borrowed from Abby, brows furrowing.

_“It says that her bones had some major damage to them, as if whoever killed her tried to slice her to pieces. There are pictures, and it’s some crazy shit. You can actually see marks in her skull.”_

The P.K.E. meter whirls to life, and Holtzmann turns to Erin with a grin. And as she does, a scream, bloodcurdling and agonized and _angry_ comes up the stairwell. Erin gets a weird feeling in her stomach.

“Patty? Where were her bones found?”

_“I was just getting to that. They were found by accident when a pipe burst. She’d been buried in the apartment basement.”_

Holtzmann’s eyes grow wide and excited, and Erin groans softly. “I was afraid of that. Thanks, Patty.”

 _“No problem. Good luck y’all. Try not to come back slimed.”_ The phone beeps, letting Erin know the call has ended. She slips it back into her pocket, and wraps her hand around her proton gun.

“Ready to capture the furious ghost of a murdered woman?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Holtz says, and barrels down the staircase, leaving Erin to scramble after her.

-

It’s not spectacularly hard fight; it’s over in a matter of moments. But it’s an unsettling one. The entire time Erin and Holtz chase her, the ghost is _screaming_. The sound is raw and hard, and Erin can feel the fury, feel the _terror,_ and it makes her sick to her stomach.

And, yes, she is ecto-projected on, because what else can she expect at this point?

But when they appear from the basement, Holtz lugging the smoking canister, the owner thanks them again and again, nearly crying in relief. She stands far, far back from Erin though. Erin doesn’t blame her.

It’s the drive back where the problems start. It’s raining so hard that the traffic outside is crawling, barely inching forward. They’re used to traffic, of course. You can’t live in the city without traffic. But this is something else. And Erin’s annoyed, because she just wants to get back to the firehouse and shower. Her jumpsuit sticks unpleasantly to her skin, and the ectoplasm keeps dripping into her eyes.

Holtz leans against the steering wheel, and Erin can almost see the gears turning in her head.

“What is it?” Erin asks, wiping the ectoplasm on her hand off onto her jumpsuit. It’s starting to dry, the new sensation somehow more unpleasant than the stickiness.

“Who could do that to another person?”

“What?”

Holtz turns to Erin, her eyes wide and dark. “She…looked like she had been torn apart. And she was clearly alive when it had been done...she kept screaming stop, over and over. She must have died in absolute agony. Who could have done that to another person?”

Erin forgets, sometimes, that Holtz is the youngest of the four of them. She forgets, sometimes, that under the largeness that is Holtzmann, there’s Jillian underneath. Warm, soft, sensitive Jillian, with enough demons in her past to make anyone struggle. But she soldiers through. Except for times like this. When something rattles the Holtzmann part of her enough that the Jillian comes peeking out beneath.

“I don’t know,” Erin says, honestly. Because she doesn’t.

Jillian turns back to the road ahead, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. She rests her chin on it, watching the wipers go back and forth, back and forth.

“He was supposed to love her,” Jillian says, maybe fifteen minutes later.

“Who was?”

“Her boyfriend. Who killed her. He was supposed to love her, and he did _that.”_

“No,” Erin says fiercely, and Jillian turns her head.

“He never loved her. That is not love. I don’t know what it is, but that’s not love.”

“I guess not,” Jillian says. A few minutes later, she turns to Erin, a smile turning up the edges of her lips.

“She totally got Holtzmanned.”

Nearly collapsing in relief, Erin laughs. “Yeah. She did.”

“You’re going to get Holtzmanned later.”

“I’m going to get…shot with a proton gun?”

“No,” Holtz drawls. “But I am going to take you to pieces. Slowly and carefully.”

“Holtz.”

“On your bed.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“With my fingers and tongue.”

“Holtzmann,” Erin says, blushing, but she’s laughing, too.

“I’m gonna-“

“ _HOLTZMANN.”_

-

October rolls into November, and with it comes Christmas carols in the stores, rain turning into dusty snow, and sickness.

Erin feels awful. She’s trying to work, but her stomach feels as if it’s trying to slowly force its way up her throat, while cramping so tightly that she knows there’s going to be problems later. She hadn’t felt all that great this morning, either, but she brushed it off as the sheer amount of Chinese food she had eaten the night before. But this…she groans, resting her head on her desk. Then throws up in her trashcan.

After dealing with that, she brushes her teeth (the toothpaste making her stomach start cramping again), and goes to find her girlfriend.

“Holtz?” She calls. She braces herself against the wall as she rounds the top of the stairs. Her knees have gotten weak, and there’s a throbbing behind her right temple.

“Holtz?” She tries again, but doesn’t hear anything in reply. “I’m going to go home. But I’m getting sick, so I think you should probably stay here so you don’t catch it…”

Holtzmann doesn’t reply, and when she shuffles toward the bedroom, she nearly trips over the engineer.

Holtz is lying on the floor, splayed out like a starfish, cheek pressed against the rug.

“Holtz?” Erin crouches down. “Are you feeling okay?”

“My stomach is trying to murder me.” She turns her head, and Erin sees her face is pale and sweaty. Erin brushes the back of her hand against Holtz’s forehead, and gasps.

“You’re burning up!”

“No, you are,” Holtz whispers, then gives a little giggle. “‘cause your hot. Get it?”

“Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Get it, Er?”

“Yeah, I get it. Come on, lets’ get you off the floor.”

“But the floor is my friiieeeennnd,” Holtz whines, even as she lets Erin haul her to her feet. Erin somehow manages to get her onto one of the couches, where she collapses face-first into the cushions. Erin leaves her there to go find Abby.

-

“Erin, you can’t take care of her, you look awful.”

“But Holtz is sicker than I am, and I’m her girlfriend, so I should take care of her when she’s sick, right?” Erin asks, helplessly. This conversation has gone on longer than she thought it would, and she’s already had to leave it to throw up twice.

Abby crosses her arms. “You’re staying here, and I’m taking care of you.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Consider it payback for when you took care of me in college after I got horrible food poisoning. Remember, from the time I ate those crab cakes I bought at the gas station?”

“Yeah. What made you think that was a good idea?”

“I don’t know! I was drunk. But that’s not the point.” She grabs Erin and steers her back toward the stairs. “Patty and Kevin have gone home for Thanksgiving. It’s just the three of us, and I have the immune system of a…uh…”

“Really healthy person?”

“Yes.”

Erin sighs. She’s so tired, and she feels _horrible_. She doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

“Fine. But we’ll keep the walkie with us, and you’ll only come upstairs if absolutely necessary, okay?”

“Deal,” Abby says.

Erin kind of doesn’t think that Abby will stick to her end of the deal, but she just trudges upstairs and collapses on the couch across from Holtzmann.

-

Holtz spends the next three days drifting in and out of fever dreams and bathroom breaks to puke up the lining of her intestines. This means that the tiny Thanksgiving that the three of them had been planning had been abandoned, and Abby was left to eat mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie by herself. Patty Skyped at one point, her various family members passing in and out of the background. She thought it was hilarious. Holtz thought it was cruel for her to laugh at their misery.

Abby had spent those three days delivering water and ginger ale and blankets and medication, forever marking her in Holtz’s mind as the official Mom Friend of the ghostbusters. She kept making mental notes to thank Abby, but her entire body felt like crap, so she kept forgetting.

But today, though, when Holtz wakes up, she doesn’t feel awful. She doesn’t feel great, and the thought of food still makes her stomach churn, but she feels better. She sits up and looks around her tiny room. She has no idea when she moved here from the couch, but she does remember Erin had been sleeping beside her, and Erin has gone missing.

Slipping out of bed, on shaky legs she pads out into the kitchen. Erin’s sitting at the table, staring out the window and taking tiny sips of juice as she does. Holtz slides in across from her, and Erin smiles.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Kind of. I think we gave it to Abby.”

As if on que, the sound of retching can be heard from behind the closed door of the bathroom. Holtz winces. “Oops.”

“She knew this could happen.”

They lapse into an easy silence. Erin breaks it first by saying, “I know we’ll probably not want eat for another week, but we missed Thanksgiving, so I thought we could have one tonight. Patty and Kevin are supposed to get back, and we might have to keep Abby quarantined, but at least we’d be together.”

Holtz winces, again. “Sorry, Er, but I’m in no shape to eat turkey.”

Erin grins over her cup, and jerks her head at the countertop. “I had some stuff delivered.”

Holtz’s eyes grow wide at the amount of soup cups, ginger ale cans, and crackers are piled on the counter. “Did you go grocery shopping?”

Erin laughs dryly. “No. I had it delivered. But…does it sound like a good idea?” She sounds so hopeful that it causes a warm feeling in Holtz’s gut.

“It’s perfect. I mean it. I love you, Er, this is great!”

Erin’s eyes grow wide, and it hits Holtzmann as to why about two seconds later. They haven’t told each other they loved them yet. Something inside of Holtz panics, because what if it’s too soon? What if Erin doesn’t feel the same way? What if this scares Erin off because it’s too much too early? But she’s opening her mouth to backtrack when Erin say softly,

“I love you too.”

Holtz shuts her mouth. “Really?”

“Really.” Erin is smiling shyly, and Holtz grins, wide and bright.

“I love you, Erin Gilbert. DID YOU HEAR THAT ABBY? I LOVE ERIN GILBERT. AND SHE LOVES ME!”

There’s a groan behind the bathroom door, and Abby says something that’s muffled through the door, but sounds suspiciously like an irritated “whoop de do”.

Erin laughs. “I would kiss you if my breath wasn’t so bad.”

“As would I, Er. As would I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maaaay have added a Parks and Rec reference into this chapter. I couldn't help myself. This chapter also turned out a bit more angsty than I had intended, but next chapter it's back to fluff, I promise.
> 
> And I have a friend who drinks tea the same way Holtzmann does. I have no idea how or why, but it seems like a total Holtzmann thing to do.


	3. Part Three: Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't QUITE as long as the previous one, but it's still pretty long. 
> 
> Also, you don't really realize how many holidays there are between October and March until you're trying to write a 'fic that covers a year but isn't about every single holiday a couple celebrates.

The first day of winter is spent at the airport. Not that surprising, honestly, because it seems like the entirety of New York is trying to fly out right now. It’s just Holtz never really expected to be one of the hundreds crowding JFK four days before Christmas. She’s never had anywhere to go at this time of year.

Until this year. Because she’s going home with Erin.

The conversation had been short; Erin had been buying her ticket to go home for Christmas, back to Middle-Of-Nowhere, Michigan. And she had turned in her seat, and asked Holtz if Holtz wanted to come home with her.

And Holtz had said yes.

So now they’re in an airport, drinking coffees and watching people while they wait for their flight. Kevin’s waiting with them; he’s flying to Australia for a week to be with his family. Abby is, too; she’s from the same town as Erin, after all, and her family still lives there. She insisted on booking tickets together so they could sit in the same row.

At first, Erin was annoyed (she wanted to sit in first class), but Abby’s stubbornness won out, and now they’re about to be squished together for two hours. Holtz doesn’t mind. And despite Erin’s complaints, she doesn’t think Erin does, either. She’s wearing her Professor outfit again, complete with the tiny bowtie, and Holtz knows she’s nervous.

This is first time she’s seen her mom in almost eight years. And she’s bringing her girlfriend home. And Holtz can sense this, so she wears a more muted version of her typical outfits. Paint-splattered overalls, but with a plain red sweater underneath. Her socks aren’t a matching pair, but they’re both black with stripes. And she’s tucked her Screw U necklace under the sweater. She’s not taking it off, but she figures she should probably meet the woman before parading around with it on her chest.

She desperately, desperately wants to make a good impression.

-

Holtz sleeps for the short plane ride, head on Erin’s shoulder. She hates flying, hates it with a deep and loathing passion, and so she takes a mild sleep medication to knock it her out.  It works as it’s supposed to, maybe a bit better than it’s supposed to, because she doesn’t really wake up again until they’re at baggage claim. She realizes she’s leaning on Erin’s shoulder. She pushes off, but keeps ahold of Erin’s hand.

Erin doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her fingers. Then practically plows a guy over when she sees her suitcase.

Holtz whistles, impressed. Her girlfriend is ruthless when it comes to luggage retrieval.

-

 “I just got a text from my dad,” Abby says.

The three of them are standing just inside the doors. There’s blast of icy air every time they slid open, and Holtz shivers. She burrows closer to Erin, placing her chin on Erin’s shoulder. Erin wraps her arm around Holtz, but she does it absentmindedly, as if she’s lost in thought.

“He’s here. He says he doesn’t want to get out of his car because it’s so cold.” Abby studies Erin’s face, and suddenly reaches forward and crushes her in a hug. Holtz is brought into the hug, too, but less because that was what Abby was intending and more because she just didn’t want to let go of Erin.

Abby pulls back, and says softly, “You know…my family loves you. If…if you need…”

“Thanks,” Erin says, her smile tight. Holtz can hear her anxiety bleeding into her voice, and she knows Abby does, too. Abby hesitates for a second, looking them over. But she doesn’t say anything. She just squeezes Erin’s arm, and vanishes out the door, letting in another blast of icy wind.

-

It’s apparently a bit of a drive from the airport to Erin’s mom’s house, so she rented a car. Holtz piles their bags in the back and slides into the passenger seat. She can still feel the pull of sleep behind her eyelids, and even though she wants to stay awake and talk to Erin, she slides back into sleep.

Before she does, she thinks that it shouldn’t be this hard to resist mild, over the counter sleeping meds.

Then she remembers that before she took them she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours (she was trying to finish her proton sword before they left), and figures that probably has something to do with it.

-

Holtz doesn’t really know what to expect out of Erin’s mom. She hasn’t seen any pictures, haven’t really heard any stories, and she knows that Erin and her mom’s relationship has been tense. Better, lately; Erin had gotten in touch with her after the almost-Apocalypse and they had talked at least once a week since then. But not seeing someone in almost a decade can put a strain on any relationship.

So no, Holtz doesn’t know what to expect. In her mind, Erin’s mom is one of those icily beautiful moms from dramas; tall and blond and sharp. Maybe wearing a black business suit and violently red lipstick.

But instead, she meets a woman who could be…Erin.

“Holtz,” Erin says, as they stand inside the front entrance. “This is my mom, Shannon Gilbert.”

The woman smiles, and Holtz is struck by a bolt of _familiarity_ because she has Erin’s smile. She’s a bit shorter than Erin, and her hair is longer and hints more toward a graying true red than auburn, but still…she looks remarkably like Erin. Not what Holtz was expecting. At all.

She shakes Holtz’s hand, her smile small and kind of shy.

“And Mom,” Erin says, the slightest of hesitations in her voice. “This is Jillian Holtzmann. My girlfriend.”

Erin’s mom nods, biting her lip. She and Erin stare at each other for a few long seconds, and Holtz can practically taste the awkwardness. Then they surprise her by launching toward each other and pulling each other into a bone-crushing hug. There’s a decent amount of sobbing.

Holtz wonders if she should do something.

But they eventually break apart by themselves, wiping their eyes. Holtz snakes an arm around Erin’s waist, and Erin wraps hers around Holtz’s shoulders.

They had gotten a later flight in an attempt to miss the airport craziness (it didn’t work), so they leave their suitcases piled in the front walkway and Erin’s mom (who insisted that Holtz call her Shannon) ushers them into the kitchen so they can eat.

They perch on stools at the kitchen bar, eating tomato soup and crackers. Or, at least, Erin and Holtz do. Shannon sips a cup of tea and leans against the opposite side of the bar, and listens to them talk. She asks a question every once and a while, but mostly she just listens, a smile on her face.

“Holtz is an actual genius,” Erin is saying, pushing a cracker down in her soup with the tip of her spoon. “She’s a nuclear engineer. She almost got into CERN.”

“Almost?” Shannon asks, and Holtz grins.

“There was a lab accident.”

Erin sighs. “He woke up.”

Shannon’s eyes grow wide, and get wider as Holtz slings an arm around Erin’s shoulders. “That’s all well and good, but did your daughter tell you she punched a blogger?”

Erin chokes on her soup. “Holtz!”

“What?” She leans forward, resting her chin on her fist. “It was kind of badass. She did get called a Nosebuster for a while there, though.”

“This is not the kind of thing I want you telling…people!” Erin hisses, bright red. Holtz blows an overdramatic kiss, which makes Erin cough out a laugh, even while she tries to look mad.

Shannon just looks mildly bemused.

-

The next few days are spent meeting people. So many people. It’s dragging on Erin’s energy, sapping her of her strength, and at night she’ll collapse into bed and not stir until Holtz shakes her awake in the morning. There are an impressive number of neighbors, family friends, and mild acquaintances that remember her from when she was little that want to come say hi.

She privately thinks that her being a Ghostbuster has something to do with it, too, but she doesn’t mention it to her mom. She thinks it would disappoint her, and for the first time since she was a little girl, their relationship feels _easy_. There are still barriers, of course, but the silences feel comfortable, now, and not awkward, and Erin doesn’t have to wonder about the what ifs anymore.

What if she doesn’t believe in ghosts.

What if she doesn’t like that I’m a Ghostbuster.

What if she doesn’t like that I have a _girl_ friend.

And it’s a delight watching Holtz with the kids. They’re all enamored by her, and she’s equally entertained by them (“Look at this tiny human, Erin!” she declares, once, showing Erin a baby that belonged to the daughter of Erin’s childhood neighbor). And, yes, not everything’s perfect. There are a few judgmental comments relating to Holtz, and one woman asks Erin outright if she just hadn’t experimented in college and was doing it now.

But, mostly, it was okay. It wasn’t the massive fire of homophobia and judgement that she expected it to be.

But there’s one thing that is niggling in the back of Erin’s mind, and because of the exhaustion she hasn’t had a chance to ask Holtz about it yet.

Then, it’s Christmas eve, and Erin’s mom has long since gone to bed, and Holtz is sprawled on the couch watching a Christmas movie Erin vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place. She shifts Holtz just enough to squeeze onto the couch, and Holtz responds by instantly putting her head in Erin’s lap. Erin tangles her fingers in Holtz’s long blonde hair, now loose around her shoulders.

They’re silent for a few minutes before Erin hesitantly asks, “Hey, Jillian?”

“Yeah?” Holtz asks, not taking her eyes off the TV, where a man is spraying the bottom of a saucer sled with cooking oil. This strikes Erin as odd, but she doesn’t let herself get distracted.

“How do you feel about kids?”

“Like…objectively? Or hypothetically?”

“Both, I guess.”

Holtz shifts so she’s lying on her back rather than her side, and looks up at Erin. “Kids are cool. They’re fun to be around, and they’re entertaining. But would I want kids someday?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought that much about it. There’s a lot of work that goes into it and I can’t even keep a cactus alive.”

“You’re the one who killed my cactus? You said it was Kevin!”

“I showed it too much affection.” At Erin’s confused look, she clarifies. “I gave it too much water. It drowned under the weight of my love for it.”

“Holtz-!” Erin stops and shakes her head, as if she’s trying to clear her thoughts. “That’s not important. Keep going.”

“Kids are a huge giant question mark in my future. Even more since, y’know, we’re kind of missing a vital part of the baby making process. It’s be more expensive and more invasive to make a kid than it would typically. Since neither of us has a penis.”

“I know.”

“We both have vaginas. You can’t make a baby with two vaginas.”

“I’m aware of basic anatomy, Holtz.” Erin twists a blonde curl around her fingers. Holtz blinks up at her.

“What about you, Er? Do you want to put a baby in it?”

Erin laughs, but quiets quickly. “I don’t know, either.”

Holtz sits up, propping herself up on Erin’s thighs. “Then why’re you asking?”

“I saw you with the kids,” Erin answers. “And you seemed so happy being around them, and I thought…well, we’re getting older.”

“The ol’ baby box isn’t going to be functioning forever.”

“Yeah. And if you desperately wanted kids…I don’t know. I felt like it seemed like an important thing to know.”

Holtz settles back down. Erin resumes the slow circles she was rubbing on Holtz’s scalp. “I know this is kind of sudden. We’ve only been dating for few months.”

“Aw, Er-Bear. You’re planning ahead. Being overly organized. All the things I would expect out of you.” Holtz turns her attention back to the TV, and Erin follows suit.

“What is this, anyways?”

Holtz gasps dramatically. “Whaaaat? You’ve never seen Christmas Vacation?”

“I don’t think so.”

Holtz thrashes around for a second until her hand closes around the remote. “We’re fixing that right now.”

-

Christmas passes quickly. Holtz is as excited as an eight-year-old, practically bouncing in glee from about 6AM on. Her delight is infectious, and Erin finds herself more relaxed and anxiety-free than she’s been in ages. Shannon makes chocolate chip waffles for breakfast, which nearly makes Erin cry because that’s what they had every Christmas when she was a kid, and then she actually cries while opening presents because Holtz made her a necklace. It’s heart, and in the middle of the heart is radioactivity symbol. And it’s so perfect and so Holtz and she puts it on right away.

Then Holtz totally ruins the moment by saying that there are more presents but they’re best opened in private with the world’s most suggestive wink, and Erin nearly dies from embarrassment. Shannon rather looks like she feels the same way.

They Skype Patty at one point; she’s surrounded by little cousins all clambering over her, and she already seems like she’s had a couple of drinks, even though it’s one in the afternoon.

The house slowly fills with distant relatives and Shannon’s close friends, and Holtz wears the world’s ugliest Christmas sweater (it has cats wearing Santa hats and actual blinking Christmas lights on it). Erin doesn’t leave Holtz’s side throughout the night, and by the end, she’s basically holding Holtz up, who’s wrapped around her like a koala with her chin on Erin’s shoulder.

The day after Christmas is spent watching old family movies and eating as many leftover Christmas cookies as they can. And then…it’s time to go home.

They meet Abby at the airport, and’s irritated and exhausted, and grumbles her hello over a cup of black coffee. And while Holtz and Abby go to check the luggage, Erin and her mom stand just inside the doorway.

Shannon shifts from foot to foot, and says softly, “I really enjoyed having you here.”

“I enjoyed being here,” Erin says, equally softly, and reaches forward to wrap her mom in a hug. There’s a few moments of breath-stealing tightness, then they break away. Shannon squeezes Erin’s arm. “I’m happy for you.”

Somewhere behind them there’s a whoop of laughter, and Erin doesn’t need to turn around to know whose it is. Something in her chest warms.

“She’s good for you, Er. I’m so happy you have her.”

“I am, too,” Erin whispers, and then she hugs her mom again. “Come and visit us, sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

Shannon squeezes Erin’s arm again, and then she’s out the door. Erin watches her for a few seconds before turning. Holtz grins at her, wide and bright, and slips her elbow through Erin’s. She continues chattering with (at, more accurately) Abby, and they head toward the security gate.

She rests her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder as they join the line, and Holtz tilts her head to smile at Erin, and there’s the warmth again.

Somehow, in the middle of a busy airport two days after Christmas, it solidifies. Erin loves Jillian Holtzmann. Every single mismatched piece of her.

-

Holtz had forgotten about the fundraiser. She thinks that she probably assumed they just weren’t going, because she knows how much Erin hates them, but apparently, Abby won the argument that they were having last summer, and so the day before Erin turns to Holtz and asks what she’s wearing.

Holtz utterly blanks for a few terrifying seconds, before blurting out that it was a surprise. Erin looks worried, but doesn’t push it, which is why Holtz used the excuse that she had to stay late and finish a project, when really, she had to go out find something to wear. Holtz has never really had any reason to own formal clothes.

And now, as she examines herself in the mirror in Erin’s ( _their_ ) bedroom, five minutes before they must leave, she wonders if it’s enough. If she chose the right one.

“Holtz? Are you ready?”

Erin comes around the corner, fastening an earring, and something in Holtz’s brain screeches to a stop. Because Erin looks- no other way to put it - _hot_. Her hair’s been curled, her makeup is immaculate, and the dress.

 _The dress._ It’s black, with a floaty skirt that ends around her knees, but the top…it’s fitted, and the neckline dips low, and Holtzmann can feel her eyes strain to follow the strip of skin.

Erin is equally speechless. “You look…”

Holtz is wearing a fitted black suit over a white button-up, feminine but not overly so. She doesn’t have any formal shoes so she’s wearing her least-scuffed pair of boots, and she’s matched the laces to her thin suspenders and bow tie. They are a violent, ectoplasm green. And her sunglasses, of course. Formal or not, she’s not taking them off.

Erin swallows, hard. “You look amazing.”

“So do you.” Holtzmann picks her jaw up off the floor, and offers her arm to Erin. “Milady. Our carriage awaits.” Her British accent is awful, and she knows it, but Erin laughs and takes the offered arm.

“Lead the way.”

-

Out of the four of them, it’s Abby that’s the most in her element. It shouldn’t be surprising; Erin gets awkward, Holtzmann gets weird, and Patty, after years of dealing with irritating people in the MTA, has no problem letting people know via her facial expressions when they’re being stupid. But Abby is good at this, and for some reason it comes as an utter surprise to Erin.

“How’s she so good at this?” Erin asks, wondering and mildly irritated at her friend’s apparent easy ability to small talk.

“I have no idea,” Patty says. They’re both watching Abby laugh and talk with a professor of Harvard, seemingly perfectly comfortable.

It could be that’s it’s a bigger shock than it should be thanks to the Abby they had witnessed a few short hours before: Jennifer Lynch had given them a quick pep talk on what they should talk about and what they shouldn’t talk about, and Abby glowered through the entire thing. Abby can hold a grudge like no one Erin has ever known, and her anger for Jennifer isn’t going to let up anytime soon.

Holtz has her feet propped up on the table, and a plate of shrimp in her lap. She had discovered the food table in the corner and had no reservations about piling her plate full. She keeps going back, too. Partly because she eats enough for three grown men on a normal day, and partly because Erin doesn’t want to walk through all the people to get a plate herself, so she keeps picking off the engineer’s.

When Patty tries, Holtz smacks her hand away.  Patty glares at her before giving Erin a knowing look. Erin blushes, and she isn’t quite sure why. Instead of dwelling on it, she sips from her glass of wine and leans her head on Holtz’s shoulder.

Patty takes a picture. “Y’all are too cute.”

“Pattycakes, I have a proposal for you,” Holtz says as Erin squeaks in protest and makes a weak grab for Patty’s phone.

Patty raises an eyebrow. “I’m not letting you take over the Ghostbusters Instagram again.”

“I was the one that started it!”

“And I took it away after you kept taking photos of your machines and telling everyone how dangerous they were.”

“It was _interesting_.”

“No, Holtzy. It wasn’t. It was terrifying.”

Holtz grins. “Holtzy sorry.”

“No.”

“Holtzy won’t do it again.”

Patty looks at her in mild disgust. “Don’t do that.”

“Holtzy-“

“NO.”

-

They leave, giggly and slightly tipsy, the edges of the world starting the blur just slightly. Patty had disappeared an hour ago, Abby had already called a cab, which left Holtzmann and Erin shivering on the sidewalk. Erin wraps her coat tighter around her, wishing she had worn tights under the dress. But while Erin feels as if she could fall asleep standing up, Holtz is still radiating energy. She had run into a professor of nuclear engineering, and they had spent easily an hour talking, and she always gets good ideas after talking to people. Erin knows that’s why she likes it when Erin works on her whiteboards, because she’s a person to talk at, and it helps Holtz process, it helps her think. She’s never been somehow who just focuses on work, she must be doing something else, too. That’s why she always has music on.

“Dr. Holtzmann?” A timid voice makes Erin and Holtz turn, and there’s a girl standing there. She looks to be about Holtz’s age, maybe a bit younger, and she holds something in her hands. It takes Erin a moment to recognize Holtz’s jacket, which she is no longer wearing.

“I think this is yours.” The girl passes it over, blushing scarlet. She practically flees as soon as the jacket leaves her hands.

Holtz raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t even say anything.” She slides the jacket on, but she freezes when she slips her hands into the pockets.

“What?”

Holtz pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, and it doesn’t click in Erin’s brain as to what it is until Holtz grins.

A number, written on a napkin, clearly slipped into Holtz’s pocket by the girl who just ran off.

A strange feeling is gathering in Erin’s stomach. Holtz is grinning.

“I still have it,” she says, bumping her hip against Erin’s. “Sorry, Er, but she was really cute and I no longer need you.”

There’s something brittle and delicate splintering in Erin’s chest.

“You have been replaced.”

Erin can hear the amusement in Holtz’s voice, and she knows she’s teasing, but it’s suddenly getting hard to breathe. “I…I have to go. I’ll be right back.”

“What? Erin!” Holtz calls after her, but Erin has bounded up the steps of the hotel hosting the fundraiser.

The last few stragglers are in the lobby, chatting, but Erin rushes past them. She finds the woman’s restroom without difficulty. She slams the door shut behind her and collapses onto the couch inside the door, pushing her head into her hands. She can hear the door creak open, but she doesn’t look up.

“Erin?” Holtz’s voice is soft. A weight sits down next to her. “Are you okay?”

Erin feels a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly she’s crying.

“Er-Bear? Are you okay?” Holtz sounds so concerned, and that just makes Erin cry harder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not good enough for you!”

“What?” Holtz sounds so shocked, and that’s what makes Erin look up.

“Jillian, you could be doing so much better than me! Like that girl who gave you her number.”

Holtz’s eyes grow wide and scared. “Erin, you know I was joking, right? I’m not leaving you for her.”

“I know.” Erin wipes her eyes, and somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she’s smearing her makeup, but she doesn’t care. “But one day you’re going to look up at me and realize that I’m not as good as you thought I was.”

“Erin, that’s-“

“That’s what always happens!”

Holtz is silent, stunned, and Erin barrels on. “That’s what happened with Phil, with Robert, with everyone who’s ever dated me in the past. They look at me one day, and I’m not…not who they thought I was.”

“Well, they’re assholes.” The ferocity in Holtz’s voice makes Erin gasp in surprise. “They’re assholes who never wanted to know the real you. They wanted the arm candy, they didn’t want Erin.” Jillian stares at her, eyes sharp and intense. “I want Erin. I love Erin. Not Professor Gilbert, like Phil, or the lady from across the hallway, like Robert. I love Erin. Ghostbuster Erin. Scientist Erin. Brilliant, beautiful, amazing Erin.”

Erin laughs even as she sobs, and rests her head on Holtz’s shoulder. “I’m like the ultimate cliché. Crying in the bathroom after a fancy party over something stupid.”

Holtz kisses her hair. “I don’t care. I love cliché Erin, too.”


	4. Part Four: Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! Part four of four, and the ending of the longest fanfic I've ever written! And, yes, it's not THAT long, and I've written novels that crush this wordcount to dust, but still. LONGEST FANFIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN. Thank you guys so much for all the kudos and kind comments. It makes my day. <3
> 
> Also, really quick, there's a joke in this chapter that you won't understand unless you know that Ace is a chain of hardwear stores. I don't think they're all that common or widespread, they're just kind of...there. I know that we have maybe one around here, and people only really go to it if there's nowhere else to go. 
> 
> And have I been dying to make this joke since I started writing this 'fic? YES. YES I HAVE.

January shifts into February, then into March, and the first tastes of Spring start to fill the air.

Holtzmann used to think that was a stupid expression, “the first tastes of insert-season-here”, but now, she can taste it. The air tastes like early-morning fog and wet pavement after rain, and she can’t quite describe what tastes they are, or how she can even taste them when she inhales, but she can. She can only explain that they exist and they are here right now, the minute she steps out onto the rooftop.

Erin is sitting in one of the chairs they dragged up during the summer, feet curled underneath her, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looks exhausted.

It was another all-nighter, for all four of them. Holtz putting the finishing touches on her proton sword, Abby and Erin on the equations for what they insist with be the Next Big Thing, and Patty on finishing what she originally started as a side project, but now has grown into her one true love. A map of New York, drawn directly onto the wall behind her desk, first with pencil then traced over with Sharpie. Meticulously detailed, and labeled with spots of importance. 85 West 3rd Street. Hotel Chelsea. The Landmark Theater. Anywhere with rumored hauntings, sites of particularly gruesome murders, or unidentified bodies found.

Patty is passed out at her desk, Abby on the couch on the third floor, and Holtz had assumed that Erin was in the bedroom, also asleep.

But no, she’s here, and she turns and smiles at Holtz, scooting aside in an unspoken invitation. Holtz squishes herself into the chair next to Erin. It’s barely big enough to hold them both, but neither of them care. Holtz rests her head on Erin’s shoulder.

“I love the city in the morning,” Erin says, softly. It’s barely 7AM, the sun just beginning to rise. There’s still a bit of Winter chill in the air, and Holtz can feel goosebumps prickle up her arms.

“Why?”

“Because it feels new. Like a whole new city starts every morning as the sun rises.”

It’s a romantic notion, which surprises Holtz a bit, because Erin isn’t a romantic. Abby is; a hidden one, sure, and not one that has any romantic notions about people, but still a romantic. Her saying something like this would be almost expected.

“That’s a nice idea.”

“I think so.” Erin sips her coffee, leaning her head on top of Holtz’s.

“Does that mean we’re new people every morning?” Holtz asks, and she’s only half joking.

One corner of Erin’s mouth tips up, a half-smile, and Holtz wants to kiss it. Kiss the corner of Erin’s mouth, then her mouth, soft and lazy and warm.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’re still the same people, but one day older, one day wiser. Not new, just…fresher. Washed and clean,” she says, then laughs a little bit. “I apparently get a bit dreamy when I’m sleep deprived.”

“I like dreamy Erin,” Holtz says. She reaches out and touches the tip of Erin’s nose, her mouth shaping the word “bop”, but not actually saying it aloud. Erin grumbles in faux-irritation, but still wraps her arm around Holtz when she snuggles into Erin’s side.

The sun is illuminating the streets, and there’s the eternally-moving buzz of traffic and people, but that’s all fading into the background. This moment feels warm and soft and content, and Holtzmann just wants to live in forever.

She thinks she could be like this forever.

She could be with Erin forever.

-

It starts with a book about gay penguins.

None of them are quite sure who sent it or why…Abby thinks it’s Jennifer Lynch trying to show how supportive she is of Erin and Holtzmann (which pisses her off), Patty thinks it’s a gift from the zoo for a recent bust that involved a ghost shark that was terrorizing the visitors, Erin thinks it’s just another gift from one of their ever-growing fan base, and Holtzmann just finds it hilarious, and immediately puts it in a place of honor on the bookshelf.

And then Kevin gets drawn into it.

“Why would someone write a book about two penguins?” He asks, a confused crease between his eyebrows. He flips through the book, occasionally reaching up to push his glasses up his nose.

“Because they’re gay penguins who adopted a baby penguin,” Holtz explains, patiently.

“Why?”

“Do you know what gay means, Kev?”

Kevin frowns. “Yes. It means you like someone of the same gender.”

Patty’s eyebrows fly up. “That’s…surprisingly correct.”

“Holtzmann is gay,” Kevin continues, pointing at the engineer, who gives a two-fingered salute and winks.

“Erin likes boys and girls, so she’s bothsexual…”

“Well…”

“Let it go,” Abby hisses out of the corner of her mouth, and Erin reluctantly does, even though she’s itching to correct him.

“Patty only likes boys, so she’s straight…”

“I don’t like boys, I like men,” Patty says, but she’s grinning as she does.

“And Abby’s ace, so it means she likes tools!”

“What?” Abby says, looking so startled that Erin chokes on a laugh. She pushes it down, hard, because she really wants to see where this conversation goes.

“Yeah,” Kevin says, nodding. He makes a movement with his wrist like it’s using a wrench. He looks extremely pleased with himself.

Patty bursts out laughing then claps a hand over her mouth, but her shoulders are shaking as she tries to hold it back.

“Kevin, I’m _asexual._ It means I’m not attracted to anyone! Boy or girl or any other gender!”

“Oh,” Kevin says, nodding. “So…who do you like? Dogs?”

“ _Dogs_?!”

Holtz is watching this like it’s a particularly interesting TV show, and Patty seems like she’s quietly dying in the corner. Or attempting to quietly die. She’s not being all that successful about the quiet part.

And Erin…

Erin’s just wondering how she ever found this little boy-slash-puppy-dog of a man _attractive?_ Especially when she catches Holtzmann’s eye, and Holtz smiles.

Erin can’t tear her eyes away. The dimples in her cheeks. The way her eyes light up. The way her nose scrunches up. She smiles with her tongue between her teeth and her head tilted, and Erin _burns_. She can feel it, sharp and hot and wonderful, flooding her bloodstream, igniting her veins.

Erin burns for Holtzmann.

-

Erin always knows when she has a migraine coming on. Years of dealing with them have made her attuned to her body, and she tries to stave this one off with water and food, but all too soon she’s got a throbbing behind her eyes and a pressure in her skull, so she does the only two things she can do.

She takes a shower, as cold as she can stand it, then she shuts herself in the first-floor closet. It’s the darkest part of the firehouse, and she can block the now painful lights from the outside by shoving a towel against the crack under the door, and she sits in the darkness, in pain.

There’s a soft knock on the door. Patty.

“Erin, baby? Do you need anything?”

It takes an extreme amount of energy to even squeak out the word “no”, and her head throbs at the tiny movement that it requires to lift her head. She winces and rests it back against the wall.

“Okay.” Patty’s quiet for a moment. “We just got a call. Only a Class III, so just Abby and I are going. Holtzy’s upstairs, and Kevin’s at his desk, so just pound on the door if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Erin whispers, and she hears Patty walk off.

She doesn’t know how long it is before there’s the soft thud of footsteps above her head. Holtzmann coming down the stairs.

Erin always goes into a strange, trance-like state when she has a migraine. Her world narrows to the pain, the agony, and she can focus on nothing else. She can spend hours lying in bed, only dimly aware of time passing. It’s both a blessing (she can never actually remember how bad the pain was after a migraine is over), and a curse (because it’s still hours of just horrible, extreme pain).

The door of the closet creaks open. Erin closes her eyes against the invading light, which feels like pinpricks, drawing a thousand tiny drops of blood inside her head.

“Sorry,” Holtzmann whispers. “I brought you ginger ale.”

“Thanks.” Erin doesn’t open her eyes. She can feel Holtz hesitate.

Then there’s a moment of movement; Holtz climbing over Erin’s legs as quickly and as carefully as she can, while shutting the door and using her foot to push the towel blocking the light creeping in from under the door back into place. Then she’s in the closet with Erin, scrunched up against the corner. Erin can hear the crackle of the ice in the glass of ginger ale. She can hear the soft sounds of Holtz breathing.

“I also brought you another dose of medication,” Holtz says, still whispering so quietly Erin can barely hear her. She feels a surge of gratitude; Holtz knows how grating sounds can be when she has a migraine. Even so, she opens her mouth to protest. Holtz doesn’t give her a chance too.

“It’s been two hours, Er. You can take another. Plus, I know you threw up the first.”

Erin can feel herself flush. She doesn’t like it that other people know how hard these are for her, how much pain she’s actually in. When she taught at Colombia, she had perfected the art of hiding a migraine. Caffeine, water (ice cold and lots of it), occasional bathroom breaks to throw up, and tight smiles, all until she could go home and collapse in bed. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of her colleagues, in front of her students. It’s a habit that’s hard to break, even now. Even when she works among friends.

But still, she takes the small, dry pill that Holtz presses into her palm. Just the act of putting it on her tongue makes her dry heave, and she barely gets it down, taking tiny, tiny sips of the ginger ale until her stomach settles.

And then, she bursts into tears.

“Er-bear.” The shuffle is awkward, and Holtz grunts in pain in one point as her knee crashes against the wall, and Erin ends up with an elbow in her ribs, but it results with Erin curled against Holtz’s chest, one hand in Holtzmann’s. She pushes her nose into Jillian’s shirt and inhales her smell; smoke and coffee and something lighter, more feminine that Erin can’t quite place.

That’s how Abby finds them, hours later. Kevin asks if they were practicing for H&S. Patty takes a picture. Erin and Holtz clamber out of the closet, blinking sleep from their eyes and walking on legs numb from odd positions.

They don’t let go of each other’s hands as they do.

-

They’re starting to get contacted about the second anniversary of the Ghostbusters. It’s in only a few weeks, and everyone is begging for them to do something to celebrate. Do an interview. Throw a party. Do _something_. And they do have plans, but just ones that don’t involve them communicating with Jennifer Lynch or otherwise engaging with the public.

They are going to eat a cake that Patty ordered from some bakery that’s famous on Instagram, they are going to watch old horror movies, and Holtz is going to give everyone a gift.

She’s rather proud of the gifts, too. She’s made some stealthy updates to the Ecto-1 (The trunk could now act as a containment unit, and the engine is now so powerful it’s probably illegal for anyone but the military to use it), finally finished her proton sword, upgraded Patty’s ghost chipper, made Abby a mini proton sword (because Holtz is clearly keeping the original), and slime-proofed Erin’s jumpsuit.

It took a surprising amount of work. First, slime tends to just soak through traditional water-resistant gear; anything short of a raincoat and rainboots it will gleefully infect with its gross wetness. And yes, Holtzmann typically doesn’t stray from the realm of machinery, but she dabbles in chemistry on occasion, and after much trial and error- and six melted jumpsuits she had to hurriedly get rid of and replace before anyone noticed -she finally has it. The perfect chemical concoction, that when spread on the jumpsuits, creates the perfect barrier.

It’s lightweight, barely noticeable, and still breathable, but totally slime-proof. She tested it with her fake ectoplasm, then by pouring an entire cup of hot coffee down the front. Everything just sort of slides off, and Holtz considers doing this to all the jumpsuits.

But she wants to give it to Erin, first. Erin, who hates the ectoplasm with a deep and burning passion, and all too often will come home from a bust with boots squelching, face and hair dripping green. And Holtz hates to see her uncomfortable.

But she also forces herself to save it for the anniversary, and instead tucks the new, ectoplasm-proof jumpsuit in the bottom of her drawer in Erin’s bedroom. But she comes so, so close to bringing it out after a recent bust.

Erin doesn’t even complain. She just wipes the slime from her eyes and continues with the bust, forcing the ghost into a containment unit. But Holtz can see the look on her face, watch the way it falls, and she can see how uncomfortable the physicist is. Erin’s a very clean person. She keeps her apartment immaculate, changes her bedsheets weekly, and never re-wears clothes that she hasn’t yet washed. Not even jeans. The ectoplasm is hard for her. It makes her feel dirty, feel disgusting, even.

And Holtz knows how much it bothers her, and she just wants to take it away. Anything that makes Erin not like herself, she wants to snatch away so it never bothers Erin again. And Holtz knows that isn’t realistic, that she’s fighting years of insecurities, of anxiety, but that doesn’t stop her from wishing she could.

She wanders into the bathroom, the four cubicle showers lined with two on each wall. Erin’s in the back left hand one, steam wafting into the air. Holtz strips for her own shower, peeling off her jumpsuit and leggings and crop top, all soaked with sweat.

Erin practically flings herself over the top of the divider when Holtz slips into the stall behind her. She gasps, clutching at her chest like an old woman in a sitcom.

“ _Holtzmann_ ,” she hisses. “You scared me!”

Holtz doesn’t answer. She trails her gaze up Erin’s arms. They’re red, red with hot water, red with frantic scrubbing, skin raw with the force Erin used to clean herself of the ectoplasm. Holtz reaches out, touches the reddened skin lightly.

“Is it acting up again?”

Erin hesitates, then lowers her eyes. “I may have missed a couple of doses of medication.”

“Er,” Holtz says, softly, something in her heart cracking.

Erin tucks her arms around herself, as if she’s a small child trying to hide. “It’s…I’m still going to my therapist. And it’s not OCD. It’s not compulsive. I can stop myself from doing it. I just…I don’t. Because it makes me feel so dirty. Unworthy.”

She’s crying, a little bit, and Holtz steps forward and wraps Erin up in her arms. Erin takes a deep breath, and gently untangles herself.

"It's the anxiety, Er-bear. You know that."

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…Phil hated it whenever I wasn’t clean.”

Phil. The name causes a surge of anger, even though it’s been more than a year since Holtzmann has seen him. He was never outright abusive to Erin, but he made so many comments, lined with barbs, and they stuck to Erin, dug their way under her skin. And Erin’s pulled most of them out, but there are still a few lingering there.

Holtz kisses Erin softly. “You don't have to apologize. And, for the record, I think you’re beautiful.”

Erin blushes. “Even when I’m covered in ectoplasm?”

“Even then.”

Holtz snakes her arms around Erin and pulls her closer, into a deeper kiss. There’s a heat building low in her pelvis, and she’s suddenly aware that Erin is very, very naked. And so is she. Erin seems to realize it, too, because her hips make a small movement against Holtz’s and Holtz gasps, even as she reaches down between them and-

“I can see you two in there! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SEX IN SHARED SPACES,” Patty roars from the doorway, and Erin jumps backward, hitting the temperature nob. The water turns from almost-too-hot to icy cold in second, and that makes both Holtz and Erin yelp, flinging themselves away. Erin goes into the corner, and Holtz falls background, out the shower, sprawling on the tile floor.

“Oh my god!” Patty yelps, and covers her eyes. Holtz pops up, just in time for Abby to come rushing in.

“What the hell is going on-OH MY GOD HOLTZMANN.”

“PUT YOUR CLOTHES ON,” Patty says as Abby whirls around so her back is to Holtz.

“That’s _not_ what she said,” Holtz says, cheerily. She slips back into the shower where Erin is cowering, bright red.

“Now, where were we?” Holtz asks. Erin laughs, somewhat uncomfortably, even as she steps forward toward Holtz’s arms.

“Y’all are nasty,” Patty can be heard saying over the pattering of the shower against the floor.

“WELL, YOU JUST KNOW ME BETTER NOW,” Holtz yells in answer, and Patty, though she attempts to muffle it, laughs.

(Two and a half weeks later, Holtz gives Erin the jumpsuit. Erin is thrilled).

-

From the outside, it’s an unimportant day. It’s just another Tuesday in May, slightly cloudy. New York rushes as it always does. Ghosts get hunted as they always do. But two people know that today is a special day, even with all the normalness.

They slip out of the firehouse at exactly 5 on that Tuesday, walking hand in hand the four blocks to an apartment. They’re clearly in love, leaning on each other as they walk, smiles on their faces, the traces of laughter at the corners of their eyes.

They look at each other, and they soften.

Erin slips her key into her lock, arm around Holtzmann’s waist. They all but fall into the apartment, and Erin has barely knocked the door shut before they’re kissing. Softly at first, on the lips, but the kisses become harder, more desperate, then they start to trail away.

Down Erin’s jawline, her neck, her collarbone. Her knees hit the edge of the bed.

Shirt is removed and tosses aside, and the bra; black, practical, quickly follows suit. Hands on skin. Holtz’s on Erin’s sides, trailing down her ribcage.

Erin’s, on Holtz’s stomach, under her shirt, then outside her shirt, flipping her over so Erin’s no longer the one on flat on her back on the bed. More clothes are shed. Holtz’s body is a roadmap of scars.

Burn marks on her arms, cuts on her fingers. One, large and ugly, on just to the left of her hip. Erin kisses it, then goes lower, lower, lower.

Erin thought she knew heat before. She thought she knew desire before. But Jillian teaches her otherwise. As it turns out, she knew nothing of those two things. 

Later, they’re in bed, wrapped loosely in tangled blankets, and Erin reaches down, traces the scar. Long, bumpy, a mar on the otherwise smooth skin of her hip and lower stomach.

“I almost lost you that day,” Erin says, softly. She hasn’t thought about it in a while, but now she does. The feeling of blood beneath her hands, watching Holtz get paler, the way the glass caught the light. She can feel her breath catch at the memory.

“But you didn’t,” Jillian says. Her hair is escaping the pins that normally keep it firmly in place, long and blonde and tangled on the pillow like a halo.

“No,” Erin says, and her voice carries something strange, something almost like…longing? But that’s not it. It’s an odd sort of melancholy that trickles into her voice, one that speaks of _almost._ Almost gone. Almost taken. Almost stolen. Stolen from this world, from life.

From Erin.

Jillian reaches out, traces a pattern of freckles on Erin’s shoulder, so feather-light that Erin can barely feel her fingers. “I never told you what I was thinking, while we waited for the ambulance.”

Erin just shakes her head.

“I was thinking…that if I was going to die, if I had to die, at least it was with you. And that I loved you.”

There’s a lump forming in Erin’s throat. “I loved you, too. I didn’t say it for…months, but I loved you.”

“I loved you from pretty much the moment you walked in the door of our lab at Higgins and yelled at Abby,” Jillian says, right in Erin’s ear, lips brushing ever so softly against Erin’s cheek as she pulls away. “But I never thought you'd love me back."

"And then."

"And then. Exactly one year ago, you came home from a date with Phil and you kissed me.”

“I did,” Erin says. Every time Jillian touches her, she can feel sparks alight on her skin, burning with the right kind of heat, leaving traces of the trail of Jillian’s fingertips.

“I love you, Erin Gilbert.”

“I love you, Jillian Holtzmann.”

They smile at each other, and there’s a thousand unspoken things in those smiles.

The silence is comfortable, and could have lasted for only a few seconds, or several eternities. It’s Erin that breaks it, lazy and sleepy and warm.

“Do you think we should get up? I got us dinner.”

“Not a chance, Gilbert. I’m staying here in bed with you until I die.”  
-

Spring transitions into summer. Life goes on as normal.

To Jillian Holtzmann and Erin Gilbert, normal is wonderful.

Normal is, after all, the best of things when you’re in love. Because with love, even normal is absolutely incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...ta da! The end has been reached.
> 
> I want to thank you guys again for being so nice and supporting this little 'fic. This is probably one of the nicest fanfiction writing communities I've been apart of and I'm definitely going to stick around. 
> 
> -Aine  
> (AKA your anxious asexual friend, AKA CircularGallifreyan)


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